


late-night chatter

by alongwinter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Existentialism, Gen, Mentions of Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-24 02:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18160577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alongwinter/pseuds/alongwinter
Summary: Sometimes it feels like the weight of the world is pressing down on your shoulders, making your question everything around you. It would be lonely, but Bucky knows the feeling all too well.





	late-night chatter

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by an existential crisis, a poem, and conversations at 2AM.

“Do you ever think about death?” You whispered, your words carrying through the darkness with a weight they wouldn’t possess in the light. Your hands fingered the frayed ends of your sweatshirt, the threads loose from your teeth and uncomfortable situations. You were always uncomfortable.

“Not really,” he sighed. Rolling onto his side, the mattress springs creaked underneath you in protest. He leaned his weight on his elbow, trying to look at you, unable to find your eyes. He searched for your hand instead, wanting to place comfort for no other reason than he could. 

You closed your eyes, bringing your sleeve up to your mouth. Pulling out a thread, you twirled it between your teeth and rolled it into a ball with your tongue. His answer made you pause, made you uneasy about him. Everyone thinks about death at some point, some more obsessive than others. It was like this giant omen, a threat hanging over their shoulders to make them weary of adventure and chances. For you, it was a literal reaper on your shoulder, lurking behind you in the most inconvenient of times. It was inescapable.

Bucky, uncomfortable with the sudden silence, blew his breath between his lips harshly, feeling them vibrate slightly, “I try to stay away from it. It’s like a time bomb, you know? Mine should have been up a long time ago, but I’m not going to question it.”

“I get that,” you whispered, reaching up to rub your eye, “Sometimes I feel like death and life are these best friends, and I’m just this conversation between them.”

Humming, he nodded slightly before frowning, “What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to be metaphorical or literal?” 

“Isn’t this all just a metaphor for something?”

You laughed breathlessly, “I guess you’re right.”

Turning on your side toward him, you placed the ball of string where your teeth met gums and pressed, letting it stick there for a moment. Now, you were close enough to see shapes, see the outline of his jaw and he, your nose. Thunder rolled in the distance, making you freeze before his hand laid on your arm gently, rubbing soothing patterns on your skin as you relaxed once more.

“I mean, I’m a product of one and the end game of another. That’s kind of like a conversation, I suppose.” You twisted your lips in thought, “Yeah, like a conversation is almost identical to a life. In basic terms, there’s a beginning and an end. There’s ups and downs, a-and fights. There’s a million different similarities, in a way, but when it’s over, it dies. It’s done. That’s a life.”

“Not really,” he contested, “A conversation can end and begin at any time. Just because we stop talking doesn’t mean it dies completely, it’s just a ‘see you later.’”

“Are you trying to make a metaphor for the afterlife?” 

“Well shit, I think I am.” You both laughed softly, careful not to let your sounds reach above a soft whisper in fear of waking anyone else. There were light sleepers around you, and the thought of waking them and ending this, whatever this was, was dreadful.

You quieted slowly, letting the silence surround you in a warm blanket as a heavy moment settled between the empty spaces, “Do you think of her at all?”

“Who?” He mumbled. 

“Your mother.” 

“No.” His breath caught in his chest, the weight of it overwhelming as he struggled to find air, find words, find sanctuary from a million different thoughts before your hand squeezed his tightly, anchoring him back to earth.

“Not at all?” You whispered, grip still tight.

“I don’t even remember her voice.” 

The quiet settled around you both again as you stared at the wall, lost in thought and lost in the catch of skin against skin between your hands. The mattress springs creaked once more as it settled, thunder rolled in the sky, closer than before, both of the sounds background noise as you contemplated something, deciding to be brave for yourself instead of others for once. You leaned up, cupping his jaw and turning his face toward yours. Up close, you could see the confusion and hope in his eyes, emotions cracking through the mask of indifference.

His lips against yours were dry, while yours were wet, opposite in a million different ways in the very best way possible. It was like pieces fitting together in the final act of finishing the puzzle, locking together the complete work. Hours, days, weeks had passed to get to this moment, the finished product. When he pulled back, his hand locked on your jaw, holding you close as he stared.

Finally, he whispered, “I don’t want this conversation to end.”

“It’s not an end, there’s never an end,” you kissed him again, quoting his words, “It’s a ‘see you later.’”


End file.
